


cool kids don't dance

by FOOL5



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Dirty Dancing, Fights, Islamophobia, M/M, Pitch Perfect - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FOOL5/pseuds/FOOL5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Liam from the boyband 1D are Beca and Jesse from Pitch Perfect</p><p>"I can't dance." Zayn says curled up behind the gym bleachers, rocking slightly.<br/>"You can't, or won't?" Louis asks, done with Zayn's shit. "It's rhetorical, see, because it's the same thing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	cool kids don't dance

**Author's Note:**

> For JUUN!!! who wanted a 1D collegiate a capella AU, but is that really an AU?: QUESTIONS THAT ARE TOO LATE

Zayn watches impassively as the taxi driver takes his bags out of the trunk and the back seat. He pushes a cigarette between his lips, squinting at the sun and at life, generally, dreading the remaining day, sure to be filled with doing actual things like registering and talking with other humans, here at Barden University as his parents intended. As much as he’d rather pass out and slip into a rage-coma.

"That'd be thirty-five," the driver says, and Zayn counts his bills.

He then hears _Dream Weaver_ being blasted from somewhere behind him through the crowd's din and turns to see what in fresh hell. A car rolls up to the lights beside him (not at all in slow motion), and there's a guy in the back seat with a sheared head, shoulders doing little waves along to the beat. He's belting it out like everyone else is deaf.

"You forgot a tip." The cabbie tells Zayn, but he isn't listening. He is in disbelief.

The guy in the car has noticed Zayn watching, and his face splits into a grin like a further idiot- turns his body toward him in order to serenade him proper, boy band hand motions and all. Zayn cringes in secondhand embarrassment.

He's getting into it now, eyes closed for the falsetto parts, and Zayn's about to start being reluctantly impressed – when the light turns green and the car screeches away, jostling the boy against the seat. The car turns off at the corner into a car park, the song still audible after it’s disappeared.

Zayn schools his face again and takes another drag, takes his dozen bags of essentials in hand and trudges up the steps to the building to find his room. One of the student mentors snags the cigarette out of his mouth as he passes and chucks it. "No smoking indoors," they say, which is perfect. Zayn gives him a look that would maim a smaller animal, unable to flip him off.

He maneuvers through the crowded halls filled with first years and their awkward attempts at socialization. He finds his room and it's big enough, pretty clean and manageable, though ultimately not his alone.

Zayn looks around, finds that he has never seen a place more ill-suited for his delicates. Zayn wasn't a Diva, but he was kind of a diva. His roommate is a dickhead who is definitely secretly prejudiced, eyeing his every move around the room with beady, offended little eyes- as Zayn sets up his mixer and soundboard on the table, tacks a picture of his sisters on the wall at an attempt at settling in. He takes it down immediately after, shaking his head at himself.

Zayn tries for a few minutes at conversation then gives it up for loss, leaves all of his shit still packed and heads out the door. He checks his phone and sees that his mum texted him asking how it all is, and gets shoved for the tenth time by an ongoing indoor frisbee match by the living area. Zayn texts back: 'this s the best day of my liiFE x'

In a different wing down a few halls, Liam was still humming to himself, trying to unlock his room and hold his three duffel bags in one arm.

He opens the door and is met with his roommate's bare backside, and Arctic Monkeys playing loud on a beaten up iPod.

"Hi ther- my god you're absolutely naked."

The boy turns around from folding one of his shirts, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "Hi. Didn't think you'd get in so early." He beams, and it's exactly like he's the sun baby from the teletubbies. His eyes drift liberally over Liam’s entire body.

Liam however, tries to avoid eye contact with the boy's bits as well as possible. "Sorry, should've knocked. I'm Liam, your roommate,” he tells him, twisting his arm around to offer his hand.

"'m Harry," the boy says winningly, taking it. "Harry Styles. I'm sorry that I'm naked, and if that bothers you. Let me just, become decent."

"No rush," Liam says to the wall, charmed.

When Harry finally gets his pants and only his pants on, he offers to show Liam around the sites since he's more acquainted with them, having arrived a couple days earlier.

"The activities fair has been on since yesterday," Harry says, shaving his thighs with an electric razor like that's a normal thing to do in front of a near-stranger. Liam is sat on his bed, watching it happen as if in a trance. "You should check it out."

Liam will probably just sign up for a part time job, maybe join a comic book gathering if there was one. But he takes Harry up on the offer anyway, thinking it a good chance to bond- as he wasn't about to show his privates too to even that playing field.

Harry dimples endearingly at Liam's acceptance besides. He wrestles Liam for one of his eyebrows to shave off, and Liam just barely tells him 'no' he's that hard to refuse.

"Right," he says when they are outside, guiding Liam around the stands by his shoulders. "This is all rubbish: Maths, Rugby--" He maneuvers them around a group of sonority girls that give the two of them intrigued looks. "Speaking of sexy."

Then Liam hears it: an explosion of sound from just ahead of them - a group of people were positioned along the walkway, singing every part of Party Rock with just their mouths. " _That's_ sexy."

"What are they," Liam asks, amazed.

"The Treble Makers. Only the best collegiate a cappella group since whenever they became a thing. They're massive." Harry pinches Liam's side. "How about it then, can you sing?"

Liam doesn't know about can, but he will.

"Excuse me, Liam." Harry says, his eyes doing a crazy thing. "You've got to audition."

"I might well do, yeah." Liam says, watching one of them do a headstand. "Those are quite sick moves."

**

Zayn was less than impressed by the booths on display at the fair, was wandering around the courtyard in search of free food more than real interest.

"Hello, what about him? The Wild One with the zoolander pout at twelve o'clock."

Zayn turns around- not, because, he thinks that pertains to him in anyway - and sees two girls and a boy eyeing him up from across the pad. The blonde one catches his eye and he saunters up to the stand, putting it on.

"You up for it, Bradford," asks the boy with the perfect swoop of hair and measured grin, referring to the old high school gym shirt Zayn was wearing.

"For what," Zayn eyes the glittery sign warily.

"For the National Collegiate A Cappella Competition, of course." The girl with dark blue curls supplies, handing him a flyer. Zayn raises his eyebrows, mumbles, 'of course'.

"We're the Barden Bellas, I'm Jade. Perrie, also a freshman" she gestures to the blonde who does a mock curtsy, "And Louis. You should audition, we get loads of talent every year"

"We sing songs with only our mouths, and make bonds in eternal friendship." Louis explains amicably "What's not to like."

"Um, is that a trick question," Zayn quips, and immediately regrets it- as Louis’ smile turns ice cold, eyes squinting in offense.

"Is that sarcasm I detect? or are you really that damaged? Just checking."

"Excuse our Louis, he doesn't take kindly to sauce" Perrie intervenes, removing him from the line of fire. Jade nods, "He is right, yeah. It's good fun."

"I don't sing anyway. Sorry." Zayn backs away slowly with barely his life. "Good luck with it."

"Don't have a nice day!" Louis calls in outrage as Zayn tails it. The girls nudge him and mutter something about 'scaring them all away,' and he adds begrudgingly: "I'm only joking, have a nice day, bro."

In the end Zayn applies for a job at the radio station, hoping it'll be good experience for when he finally gets out. He gets a call back the next day, and Zayn heads down after lunch for his first shift, looking forward to some new toys or possible airtime.

The place is a bit dingy, but appears to have a pretty legitimate sound system. Zayn peers through the window of the broadcasting station, eyeing the line of guitars and recording equipment, hands itching. He fiddles with the on air switch on the wall, listening to the white noise as he waits for someone to turn up.

"Oi, cuteness, hands off," a voice says, and Zayn turns to the door, jumps out of the way as a backwards snapback rushes into the booth with an armful of LPs. "You the new intern?"

"Yeah, Zayn Malik" Zayn says, and the guy blinks at him- all soft blond fratboy, pink-tinged shoulders under a stretched out tanktop – and Zayn smirks slowly, follows him in.

"Freshmen aren't allowed in the booth," he says, and "Right," Zayn quickly takes a step back out.

The door opens again and they turn to look- "Sorry! I'm late. Got lost. What've I missed?" says that guy from the car the other day Zayn inexplicably remembers very clearly. Fantastic.

"You're the other one. Good, I'm Niall- Captain." Niall snaps his fingers at the two of them, "Helmsmen. Hands on deck. If you lay about I'm throwing both your arses right out that door, no matter who did or didn't do what."

"Got it," the guy replies happily and turns to Zayn in solidarity, who is still staring at him. His eyes widen in recognition, and Zayn wheels around and stalks the other way into one of the aisles, kind of thrown.

"Hi, I'm Liam," he says, following. "You're the— you."

"Hi," Zayn mutters, browsing the Eurodisco section intently.

"Arrigh, lads" Niall emerges from the booth with a large box of CDs, "The shifts are one to five. Sort all of these into those racks. When you've done I got more." He places it on the table, clapping his hands of dust. "Keep the sex quiet, we have a lot of listeners and the booth has thin walls. For a wank I'd use the bogs, more privacy." He shares, pointing.

Zayn and Liam have a moment to take that in, as Niall pats them on the shoulders and disappears through the door again.

A minute passes in silence before Liam speaks up, clearing his throat, "I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't give it." Zayn casually sneaks a look, assesses the state of the new co-worker: Liam wore a plaid flannel over a white shirt, rolled up; trousers hung low above converse shoes- preppy were it not for the baldness.

Zayn gives it a few more awkward beats of Liam standing hunched and narrow, rubbing his head nervously; He seems to fill the room, fresh-faced and somehow at home in the stale, dusty air and the smell of decades-old pulp.

"It's Zayn.”

"Zayn," Liam tries, grinning around it. "I remember you because you were by a taxi." he says, then double takes. "Is your dad a cab driver?"

Zayn shrugs, glaring miserably at the work to do. "Just haven't got parents."

"Oh." Zayn hears him say, and looks over- the boy looks more than distraught, staring panicked at his hands. "I'm sorry."

"I'm kidding," Zayn says immediately, feeling like he kicked a puppy over. "It's a joke. Parents were just busy."

"Oh," Liam says again in much more relief, smiling shyly. "I felt horrible for a minute."

The guy's not even mad. Zayn probably has the most bewildered expression on his face, so he looks down at the CDs again, smudging the dust away.

"So what is your deal then," Liam asks him, "this broody, bad-boy look you've got going on. Are you going to be hostile to everyone until somebody comes along and discovers your sensitive, inner core?"

"I don't have an inner core," Zayn kinda stammers, outraged. "And actually, I'm quite nice. Maybe it's you."

Liam makes an 'oof' sound and clutches his chest. "Hostile."

Zayn rolls his eyes, glancing longingly over at Niall through the glass- his little blond head swallowed by headphones, chatting animatedly to the mic. "I can't believe this is the job."

"It's great, innit," Liam nudges him with his elbow making him stumble a little to the side. "Valuable experience, alphabetizing"

"Could you not," Zayn huffs, straightening up.

"Oh my god, you're so easily annoyed." Liam realizes in absolute glee.

"Alright, man," Zayn says, fed up already - Liam interjects brightly, "It's Liam." And Zayn blinks cynically at him.

" _Liam._ Clearly, we're going to be doing some undignified grunt work together for the next few months so I'm gonna lay down some rules, yeah."

"Right." Liam says putting the album down, biting down his amusement.

"One: don't touch my hair."

"How's it even doing that, it's defying gravity-" Liam starts, reaching out to it.

Zayn ducks away, humourless. "Two, don't ever wake me when I'm sleeping, it's for beauty."

"That's very fair," Liam nods. "Next."

Zayn can't help but laugh a bit incredulously as he continues: "Three, I choose the tunes, since you've got shit taste."

"Hey, how would you know if I've got bad taste in music." Liam says, affronted. Zayn must admit it's a good look - his arms crossed, defined biceps and cut shoulders making Zayn feel tiny as hell.

"I dunno, man, considering the avidness with which you sang Gary Wright at me earlier, I can't see any good commendations coming from your end."

Liam pulls a very serious face. "Look, he’s a legend, and if you're one of those people who's a snob about classic rock or hate post-Beatles Lennon or something, I can't associate with you."

"Yeah, I'm the snob," Zayn's smirk turns into a grin by accident.

Liam huffs, then lights up, seeing an album in the pile he was rifling through. He takes it over to the dusty record player in the corner of the room, saying, "Give us a chance, I might surprise you."

Zayn doesn't really like surprises, and is fairly content with sticking with his first impression on matters, since they're usually accurate. Like how this school was shit, the people in it were shit, his roommate was double shit. This job was absolutely not what he expected when he signed up for it, which he thought would be more broadcasting his music and less sorting -- and none of that was going to change, Zayn knew, no matter how much time he had to get used to it.

Though this Liam seemed like a tolerable guy. A bit odd maybe, with weird reactions to things. But if he turned out to be any more or different than that, Zayn wasn't going to give it much thought.

He was going to get through university with as minimal human interaction as possible. He was gonna bury himself in his music and sulk at his parents until they took pity or got sick of his whining and let him off this hellbent punishment for simply wanting to do what he's good at and what makes him happy: producing music for a living. He would survive this, but begrudgingly and out of spite.

If only this Liam wouldn't become a problem to work with fifteen hours a week.

 _Take a Chance on Me_ starts playing and Zayn nearly cracks his neck as he looks up. He scrutinizes Liam's face across the room for the barest sign of irony, which he doesn't find. Liam's just smiling again, shaking his shoulders a little to the beat.

Zayn feels himself being vaguely endeared, and stomps down on it hard, because really, no. "Number fucking four: no dancing while I'm able to be seen with you"

"Sorry, can't hear you over my amazing taste in music," Liam says, mouthing ‘That’s all I ask of you baby’, doing those full-body waves Zayn saw him do in the car, that he is only a little jealous of.

Against Zayn's better judgment, they bond over their massive hero-worship-toners for Usher and Justin Timberlake, and love for bothering Niall through the booth glass. Liam is full of fun, entirely useless facts, and equally useless tricks he can do with Zayn’s lighter and mics they’re supposed to be cleaning.

The hours drag by every shift, and they spend them lip-syncing to the broadcast and chucking stuff from across the room. Liam dances a lot, breaking the fourth rule, does Elvis impressions with a mop as a mic stand, which Zayn can't realistically not laugh at.

They come up with obscure secret handshakes that they forget the next second, make stupid jokes that are mostly puns, that no one else would laugh at but they literally die over. They battlerap over who will clean up after lunch with Liam beatboxing, and afterwards Zayn keeps having to avert his eyes from Liam's pouty lips, red from overuse. It's a wonder Niall hasn't fired them yet.

In any case it becomes that Zayn breaks his own rule just as easily. He wasn't doing a very good job of avoiding people at all. It was as if they were drawn to him, like cats being drawn to people who are allergic to cats. Or something. They were sneaky is the point.

**

"You can sing, you tosser," says a voice right behind him and Zayn makes a high-pitched sound he's never made before, hits his sternum pretty hard on the metal faucet as he whips around.

"What is wrong with you," Zayn rasps, eyes threatening to fall out of their sockets, because that kid- Louis- is in his shower stall, starkers and glowing like a sun god. "Could you, please cover up."

"You told me you can't sing, but you can. You're brilliant," Louis tells him, not covering up; It stirs something in Zayn's chest, makes him suck in sharp a breath.

"It's more that I don't, in front of other people."

"Why would you lie to me like that, it would never have worked." Louis demands, eyes a blistering blue, "Go on, sing it again. Consider this punishment for your lies."

"If I do, will you cover up?" Zayn asks the ceiling, watery.

"Likely not." Louis tells him brightly. "And I won't leave until you do."

Zayn clears his throat and begins at the hook, much quieter than earlier when he thought he was alone, like an idiot, in a communal bath. But then Louis starts layering on at a key lower, husky and dulcet - unlike his light, sandy voice when he talks normally. Zayn can't help but raise his eyebrows in intrigue as they finish off in perfect harmony.

There is a beat where they stare at each other- Louis smirking in that 'yeah, bitch' way he has, and Zayn stunned- surrounded by the echo of their last note. And it's no longer uncomfortable, but exciting and right. Zayn realizes he's got chills down his spine.

"You know John Legend?"

"Am I not dead?" Louis laughs. He considers Zayn for a beat. "With you, I think we could win this year."

"You two are great at singing." Zayn jumps at a new voice in the room, as a boy appears over Louis' shoulder, his mouth agape. Zayn nearly faints at the amount of dicks that were out in the open at this moment.

"Wait in the stall, Rob." Louis says, still staring lovingly at Zayn. "It's Ryan." The guy mumbles, retreating.

"So." Louis says, "You're coming to the audition. Thursday, four sharp, you'll smash it, I won't take no for an answer."

"Fine," Zayn almost yells, still thrown by the whole exchange. The level of intimacy breached by this boy with a wicked grin and a meticulous ass in a manner of minutes incalculable. It was more appalling that Zayn was letting it happen. "Can you leave now please."

"Of course." Louis says easily. He pats him on the shoulder before sashaying out of the stall. "See you Thursday, Bradford."

Which was well enough as Zayn did get a tentative answer out of his parents the hundredth time he'd emailed them: if by the end of the year there were some evidence of an active curricular and extracurricular school life, they'd let him off the hook and let him get a proper job. Which meant he'd have to stop taking eight-hour naps through his classes, but a little singing and hanging with fit girls and boys on his now rather abundant downtime wouldn't be so terrible, he thinks.

**

Thursday came and Liam walked out of his last lecture of the day, got tackled into the wall by an overexcited Harry who'd been waiting outside, who made him piggyback him all the way to the auditions, which Liam obliged.

The theatre is full to the brim with Aca-hopefuls, which is kind of surprising. Niall is there too, stuck to one of the judges from Barden Bellas; he and his friend Josh worked sound for their shows, apparently.

A third-year from Treble Makers takes the stage - Jesy, Liam remembers - and welcomes everyone to the auditions, scares the hell out of everyone on the seriousness of these competitions, then supplies everyone with lyric sheets for _Torn_ by Natalie Imbruglia and fifteen minutes to practice.

The auditions begin at four sharp and everyone is rather good. Liam thinks he has little odds on his side, though, for some reason, wants badly to do well. He cracks his knuckles, keeps running his leg- and Harry tells him to 'quit it', parks his thigh on top of Liam's knee as he plays with his phone.

Harry goes eighth; he wiggles his eyebrows and slaps Liam hard on the chest before jumping clumsily up on stage on his gazelle legs. "Hello, my name’s Harry. I'm from Cheshire," he drawls in his perpetual morning gravel, hair a foot high and Jimi Hendrix shirt rolled up to reveal his pirate tattoos- and the whole theatre practically gasps in indignant adoration.

He does brilliantly; guilelessly passionate with his husky high notes- Liam's face hurts from making a proud-mom face the whole time, and one of Bella's judges seems to be having a stroke - then Liam's up.

He gets a bit nervous in the beginning, having so many eyes on him – but Harry's leaned against the wall in the corner, mocking the thing Liam does with his face when he sings; Niall is sat in the front row mouthing lines at him, making obscene hand gestures - and Liam can only focus on not laughing for the remainder of the song.

The auditions eventually taper off – and Liam jogs over to Harry and messes up his hair in fondness, to Harry’s mild protest. They gather their things and start to head out, when Liam hears a familiar, rusty voice over his shoulder.

“Hi, sorry. I, er, slept in.”

Zayn Malik was on stage. His Zayn Malik. 

Zayn’s hair is down and he's clad in sweats and a black shirt rolled up to his elbows, eyes lidded with sleep and pink tongue swiping across his mouth — blindsighting Liam cleanly.

“You’re here,” the judge from Bellas exclaims. “Sing at me.”

“Just, whatever?” Zayn says and looks up at the ceiling in thought.

After a moment he sets his jaw purposefully, looking down. He begins to kick his foot and clap his hands in sets, a bit off-beat with nerves – then on the fourth one starts to sing. And Liam blacks out for a little bit.

When he comes to, Zayn’s crooning something about pom poms and cigarettes and Forrest Gump. Zayn’s held notes are incredible, his vibratos ringing clear through the theatre. His lashes flickering, his brows furrowed as he tells them, _"..If this is love, I know it's true"_ Zayn stops clapping and whistles for the latter bit, and finishes with a final stomp.

The theatre remains silent. Liam is basically casualty at this point, leaning half his weight against the wall to keep his knees from buckling, telling Harry hoarsely: “That’s Zayn Malik.”

“That’s Zayn Malik?” Harry repeats, meeting Liam’s eyes in shock. “You’re fucked.”

“Yep,” Liam nods in resignation.

**

"Welcome to Aca-initiation night, ladies." Louis calls over the titters, standing at the mouth of the outdoor auditorium. Louis is in a green floral shirt, hands in his slacks and looking casually unparalleled as usual. “Have fun, drink responsibly, and don’t do anything you’ll regret in your senile years. ‘Anything’, meaning the High Notes.” Louis warns seriously.

The cool night air is already filled with sounds of muffled bass and excited chatter, and the Bellas scatter at once. Louis gets down from his perch and knocks Zayn around a little, who’s trying to light up. Louis drags him by his arm down the steps towards the party, ordering him not to leave until at least midnight.

“Where is your person,” Louis asks him, searching the crowd. Who? Zayn thinks, and then Oh, “He’s not… my person. Just works at the station with- ” but Louis stills him with a hand on his arm. Zayn looks up.

That boy Harry was up on stage in the middle of the auditorium, the one Louis wouldn’t shut up about, drowning in a dark jumper and in torn skinny jeans, warbling _Little Bird_ on one of Niall's guitars at the surrounding girls and blokes alike.

"Shit," Zayn hears Louis utter beside him, half-exasperated, half in surprise. Zayn sympathizes, he is a wonderland.

Harry finishes and hops off stage, spotting them, and ambles through the crowd. “Hello?” Harry asks, and Louis says “Hi,” with his entire face, adds as an aside, “This is Zayn.”

“Yeah I’ve heard loads about you,” Harry says, staring with the biggest, greenest eyes at him. “Beautiful voice.” It was clearer up close why Louis would. He looked the type you’d approach expecting a naive, happy child and instead find a driven young man you end up finding sexy in a weird way - the kind that guilts you for thinking it.

“You too,” Zayn returns, and Harry basks in the compliment. He winks, mumbling, “Liam should be around here, probably getting pissed up on just, life.”

Right on cue, Liam lunges cheerily over the seats towards them with a drink in hand, giggling like a donut.

“Change the motha fucking world,” Liam capslocks into the night, raising his arms. Louis quirks an eyebrow pointedly and turns around, strides off with Harry in the direction of drinks.

“You are literally, the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” Louis tells him throwing an arm around his neck, which Harry ducks to accommodate. “I have a feeling we should maybe, probably, have sex. Just a thought.”

“Okay,” Harry says in a rush, before they move mercifully out of earshot.

Liam finally comes down off the seats and lands himself in front of Zayn. “ _You_ , are a singer.”

Zayn smirks at him helplessly, "How much have you had, man."

"Oh, this?" Liam sniffs his cup. "Red bull and coke"

"So you're like, normally like this."

"Generally, yeah," Liam nods like he has to think about it, grinning at him slow like they're sharing a joke. “My personality gets better the drunker my date is. Can I get you a drink?”

“Yes,” Zayn says really earnestly.

“I got you-” Liam says when he returns with another cup, “some punch, with a secret ingredient: It’s alcohol.”

“Cool.” Zayn downs half of it. He blinks at the burn, watches as Liam comes back into focus, blurred along the edges. He’s kind of built, Zayn figures.

"You know what, I'm actually sort of angry with you, for letting me sing _Pusher Love Girl_ by myself the other day." Liam shakes his head at him, disappointed. "You woulda smoked me, mate. Why didn't you tell me?"

"What, that I sing?" Zayn was distracted, not really following the conversation – this windswept, dark-eyed version of Liam throwing him off kilter. "You are standing so close right now. Is this alright with you?"

Liam leans closer, "It's gonna be karaoke all of the time, every shift from now on. Definitely duets. Duets forever."

"Fine," Zayn says. He figures he can't win a fight of will against Liam, even less on such foreign grounds. And it may be the shot of vodka talking but Liam looked pretty undeniable like this, in the dim night, back-lit by a shitty colour-disco-ball straight from a middle school dance - face splotchy and glowing from dancing probably with his freaking baseball shirt stretched at the collar - and just terribly, terribly fit.

Zayn kind of clenches his face, the pain of finally admitting to himself that he finds Liam attractive – which is the worst idea he's had all week (including synchronized nerd singing) – hitting him and hitting him hard.

"Are you alright, Zayn?" Liam asks, concerned. "You look like you've got brain freeze or something."

"God," Zayn rubs his eyes. "Do you even play baseball?"

"I do, actually. Played catcher until sixth form. Though more fond of football, myself, or surfing-"

"Fucking, _come on_." Zayn tells a higher being, getting a migraine from the mental image of bare knees and wetsuits. "Please be quiet, get me another one."

Liam claps his hands and retreats back into the crowd, grinning crooked at him with his tongue between his teeth, and shit, shit.

Zayn wanders off at one point- after Niall spots him and drags him around to feed him drinks and introduce him to his cooler friends, sunny-drunk and charming and kindly indulging Zayn's kisses and reminders that he is his 'favourite ever'.

Zayn squeezes through the crowd in the direction of the music, finds Perrie with Jade and two of their Treble Maker friends sitting on the edge of the stage, and he tries to chat her up for a bit, being kind of in love with her an embarrassing amount  – which the rest of the girls find hilarious for some reason.

They kiss a little and share a beer; joke mercilessly about his crow's nest hair and her being amazing at drinking games  – but Perrie seems more interested in talking about Jade and the other girls, Jesy and Leigh-Anne, her eyes glazed over and flushed pink as they watch them dance in the crowd. “They are. _Insane_ ,” She tells him, like it's everything, “I couldn’t live without them.” Zayn wonders what that’s like.

He leaves them a bit later, pecks her cheek and feigns tiredness, telling her he'll see her at rehearsals.

He decides he's too buzzed to pass out yet, dizzily climbing the steps out of the dugout. He walks, following the sound of Harry's drunken cackle, until he finds the boys playing football in the field arena.

"Stay perfectly still," Louis is saying as he guides Liam to the middle of the goal posts. "Stay right there, don't move."

"Oh god, broo" Liam says nervously. He had a dixie cup placed on top of his head as Louis lined up the ball ten yards out. Harry and Niall were lounging on the grass, were throwing pieces of watermelon at him to distract him.

"Don't worry, I've done it before."

"What are you doing," Zayn asks them at large.

"Initiation, love. Watch— this!" and the ball soars across the field and lands right into Liam's stomach, making him double over and the cup to spill its contents over his head.

Niall was already cracking up before the shot, and was now slipping into delirium on the ground. Harry and Louis looks immediately for Zayn's reaction, and seeing it, sprints in the opposite direction, making sure to take the football with them.

"Owie," Liam says, flat on his back, covered in punch. His own fault.

"You don't have to listen to him you know,” Zayn tells him.

"Yeah I do," Liam chuckles on a groan, "He asked me."

Which is insane logic. Zayn cannot believe Liam is a person. Then again, it was Louis that asked, to whom even Zayn was emotionally enslaved to indefinitely.

"Don't be so easy. You don't have to let everyone be your friend." Zayn tells him, bothered in his stead by the probability of there being people in Liam's life that didn't deserve to be there. "Don't just give it away to whoever that wants it."

"I don't have much to give away. You-" Liam stops, squinting at him from the ground. He shakes his head like it's baffling. "You're a strange one, Zayn Malik."

"Well, you’re a weirdo." Zayn huffs, sitting down beside him, and he can feel Liam's laughter vibrate against the ground.

"I'll figure it out though." Liam says, almost off-handed, listening to the sound of the boys' mischiefs ring out like bells across the field.

**

"I can't dance." Zayn says curled up behind the gym bleachers, rocking slightly.

"You can't, or won't?" Louis asks, done with Zayn's shit. "It's rhetorical, see, because it's the same thing."

"No, I really can't. And won't because it's embarrassing." Zayn deftly avoids Louis' attempts to pry him off his seat. "I don't remember dancing ever being part of the deal."

Zayn only gets slight warning  – Louis' eyes narrowing and mouth quirking up sharply – as he gets his hands on Zayn's ribs. Zayn whoops and falls hard on his side. "Too cool for everything, aren't you," Louis says, twisting his nipples, "Can't even get over your big huge quiff to have a little fun with your aca-mates is that it."

"Jesus, what-" Zayn tries between cut-off breaths. "gerroff me"

Louis does finally, ruffling a hand in Zayn's hair just to annoy him. Zayn swipes a tired hand at his direction. "I hate you"

"No you don't," Louis scoffs; the thing about Louis was that it was kind of impossible. Zayn lies on his back for a while trying to stop the giddy grin from spreading on his face.

Zayn thinks he'll try it. He really has nothing to lose with this group, all of them here, willingly on a Sunday afternoon to choreograph a synchronized singing-dancing routine. Louis is directing the new recruits through the moves that resemble something like rowing a boat. God, it looked so dumb. Zayn forces himself up on his feet anyway, swallowing what remaining pride.

Perrie notices Zayn has rejoined the group and gives him an impressed look. Jade cat-calls at him from Perrie's lap, reclining on the bleachers. The Bellas seemed to be the happiest when laughing at Zayn, as a general rule, and Zayn thinks he should be madder about it, but keeps forgetting to be.

The moves are alright in the level of difficulty. The typical jazz-hip hop fusion steps, but Zayn wasn't lying when he said he was genuinely bad at it. He knows he'll come off looking like an idiot, flaily and awkward and nothing like how Louis looked. Louis looked confident and like he was having fun, lifting one of the girls off her feet to twirl her around.

"Have you got it, Zayn?" Louis asks, coming over. "It's stage presence, really. You just need to look a part of the group."

"I've got it." He says sullenly, doing a feeble row.

"Sad," Louis shakes his head. "What a tragesty you are. Give us your phone."

Zayn does and Louis calls to the rest, "Alright Bellas, from the top!" and the music starts again. Louis begins to record the routine. "I'm giving you homework. You're going to master these moves if it kills you." and Zayn believes Louis’ personal part in that threat 300%.

**

"How have you been alive for the past three years and not know Runaway by Kanye?"

Zayn sighs, slightly embarrassed. "Quit hammering me and get to the point."

Liam ducks his head to make a serious face at him through the album stacks. "The point is that it's great, and should definitely be in everyone's top five songs to break up to."

"Are the rules of this game: Liam is always right?"

"Yes," Liam says, and jogs around to Zayn's side of the shelves, already scrolling through his iPod. He hands Zayn an earphone, plugging the other into his own ear - He's leaning unnecessarily close, his arm a warm strip against Zayn's shoulder- he smells a bit like fabric softener and sunshine and Zayn takes a huge mental step away.

Liam keeps sneaking looks at him, expectant. Zayn doesn't look back, as it would only encourage- somebody.

After a couple minutes of listening and a weird emotional throwback to grade school – Zayn's skin rising in goosebumps and face growing hot by Liam's proximity, and the sheer innocence of his intimacy – Zayn must admit the track is fantastic.

"Yeah?" Liam nods his head to the beat, glowing with enthusiasm. "In the top three even. Next to Irreplaceable and Get Another Boyfriend, am I right"

Zayn smiles patronizingly, like he's definitely just playing along to amuse Liam, who is an excitable child. "Did you make up this game so that you could harangue me about my taste?"

Liam laughs a little and leans against the shelves, as Zayn goes back to work. "I didn't, actually. It's from a movie called High Fidelity. I've always wanted to play it with an unwilling someone if I ever worked at a college radio station sorting albums for four hours." Zayn snorts. Liam nudges him, "Have you seen it, then? The film?"

"I haven't."

Liam gushes, "You should, you'd like it. It's a bit dry, but well romantic. Great scoring, as well."

Zayn lifts an eyebrow, bugs out his eyes. "When have I ever come off as a romantic." Zayn was, in fact, sentimental as shit. It annoyed him that Liam kept finding stuff out about him that he never authorized.

Liam shrugs meaningfully, looking at something else. "So what kind of movies do you like, since rom-coms aren’t your thing."

"I uh, I don't watch many movies," Zayn says, a bit sheepishly.

"Why not?"

Zayn thinks for a moment, and then gets irrationally annoyed about it. "They're like, typical aren't they. The same pandering drivel over again, shoved in your face. And they end up all the same. They all die or fall in love or redeem their manhood, it drives me up the fucking walls."

Liam actually looks in shock. "That is the worst thing I've ever heard."

"I'm happy for you," Zayn says, but Liam intercepts him, plucks the album he was about to stack from his hand and places it back on the pile. "You're overreacting again," Zayn tells him warily.

Liam grabs him by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eyes. "I am coming over to your dorm, and you are going to be educated on the wonderful world of film and their scoring. And you are going to have an unironically good time."

"See you make me," Zayn says, then slides out of Liam's reach and boxes the side of his head lightly, pushing ineffectually at Liam's shoulders. Liam just laughs, ducking Zayn's punches and grabbing at his wrists. It's incredibly easy for him to hold Zayn still against the edge of the stacks, his knee wedged against Zayn's leg, muscles taut - and a bolt of heat runs through Zayn’s body like a shock, his eyes stuck on Liam's mouth.

"Say you'll cuddle up to You've Got Mail with me." Liam says, low, though barely out of breath in comparison to Zayn.

"Never," Zayn laughs wriggling out of Liam's grasp. Liam lets go easily enough, eyes crinkling in endearment— and it's started to dawn on Zayn why he never seems to lose these playfights with him.

Liam leans all his weight against the table on either side, trapping him. 

"Go on, say it," he says, and Zayn thinks yeah, man, anything, forgotten whatever he was agreeing to and was making Liam look like Christmas morning. Anything Liam wanted to do was fine with him. Which is more and more a recurring theme  – and it's ridiculous. Unprecedented. It floors him a little, how in it he was already, him in the palm of Liam’s hand.

He breathes out finally, dizzy with it. He jerks his head, cutting his eyes away from that whole area entirely, and down at their feet, Zayn's shoes curled in between Liam's. He coughs pointedly, "You're crowding me, man."

"Oh," Liam says, breaking out of his daze. He takes a quick step back, "Right. Sorry."

"s'alright." Zayn tells him.

Liam looks a bit shell-shocked afterwards, which clenches something in Zayn's chest. They were mates. Mates who kind of find each other hot, but that was it. Nothing weird. Zayn had to make sure that it didn't get weird.

Zayn clears his throat, grins when Liam lifts his head to look. "Top five proposal songs. One:"

"Mario - Let Me Love You," they say simultaneously, and the next half hour is spent serenading at Niall through the glass, getting progressively louder and more annoying, until he finally gives in and plays it just to shut them up.

**

Liam breathes the loudest sigh. "All of the 'Dirty Dancing' references I could be making and all of it- wasted on you, quiffy."

"Are we doing this?" Zayn says, ignoring him. He shucks his jacket on to the bleachers, just down to his tee. Zayn adjusts his jeans and turns to see Liam looking blank, eyes lidded. "I actually don't have time to be lame all day."

Zayn didn't, on principle, though he specifically chose a day when the gym would be free for the whole afternoon, in case the impromptu dance lesson he'd lassoed Liam into giving him went longer (and further) than he anticipated - Maybe they'd have to order in. Chicken, or pizza with those gross pineapple slices Liam loves so much. Maybe they'd be here all night - Zayn possibly had ulterior motives there, but he's not going to think about it too much. Zayn isn't anything if not a professional feelings-escapist.

"I'd just like to say how honoured I am that you came to me for this." Liam says, blinking out of it. "I like that I come off to you as some sort of master of dance, when all it is, really, is that I have no shame."

He throws off his own flannel over his head, revealing a tight grey shirt beneath and stark black ink lining the outer side of his forearms. His bloody _arms_.

"Yeah, well, you seemed the least likely to take the piss. What with you being, all considerate, and whatever."

"Aw, Zayn. Only for you." Liam says, stepping closer, his shoes squeaking like a warning and advising Zayn against any of it.

Zayn forces a grimace. "Can we get this over with.”

"Sure, babe." Liam nods with a lingering look. He then turns around to reveal a legitimate boombox from his duffel bag. "Only on the condition that we do it right."

"You're so middle-aged," Zayn tells him in disgust and also barely-veiled delight, as Liam begins to white-boy shimmy to _Cry to Me_.

"I must warn you though. You have to promise not to fall in love with me."

"No worries there," Zayn says, kind of really worried.

Three hours and a large pizza later Zayn's somehow ended up with Liam's hands on his stomach and on his hip, guiding it in a slow circle.

"Good, now roll this way."

"I am rolling that way," Zayn says, doing a bad job. “So is the dirty dance a metaphor like, for sex?”

“That’s not the point of the film,” Liam huffs, going red. It's doubly endearing five inches from Zayn's face. “It’s about trusting someone, in order not to hurt them. It’s about being afraid but believing in people anyway, because they’re worth it.”

Zayn nods, solemn. “But also the sex thing.”

Liam drops his hands quickly and turns away, the shirt at the back of his neck dark with wet. “Keep rolling, Malik," he says, grabbing a water bottle.

Zayn sighs, and finally does the move properly. The routine isn't that hard, now that he's practiced, and if it's just Liam and him here when he's doing it. Liam would never laugh at him.

"Look at you, then,” Liam says, watching.

Zayn smirks, "I'm probably better at it than you now?"

"Is that right?" Liam starts to laugh, devolving into a cough as he chokes a little, dropping his gaze. "Has the grasshopper become the other thing?"

He stops the music, signaling a break, and they sit down exhausted on the bleachers, sharing the water. Liam complains, "Your choreography is a lot refined than ours. Ours is mostly just me tackling Harry to the ground"

Zayn is outraged. "God, why can't we just do that, instead."

**

Liam has started to dread coming to work more and more. His nerves burring under his skin whenever Zayn was in a ten-mile radius, which can't be a normal reaction to hanging with a good friend, bro, mate, which him and Zayn are.

_When my baby is a mess, my baby is a dancing queen_

Zayn comes over to his side of the stacks and slaps him on the arse until Liam makes a noise in acknowledgement. He's been ignoring Zayn for the past twenty minutes because Zayn is eating a lolly Niall bought him, wearing one of Liam's shirts he stole that's too big for him in the shoulders - and Liam does not have the patience.

_When my baby wears a dress, it's like she's not even a human being_

Liam finds he can no longer look at his friend without wanting to remove him immediately to a private venue and go to his knees for him, watch as Zayn arches his back, keening slick and breathless against Liam's hold as Liam sucks him off -- Zayn has started doing this thing, where he stares at Liam relentlessly, unblinkingly, like Liam can't see him, like Liam will never ever look up. It's a real inconvenience.

Skin feeling too tight and chest pounding whenever someone comes around to the station to pick Zayn up, or whenever he comes in to work sleepy and soft around the edges and talking about _this girl, man_ ; the way he watches Niall sometimes with the same intent as when being approached at a bar, lashes hung low.

Liam having zero chances against these people Zayn is into, as Zayn is actually impossible, something very much like gravity, which anyone'd be blind not to see. And Liam being just Liam.

_Nobody else, nobody else has you down-_

"Pay attention to me," Zayn says, knocking into his shoulder with a little kid-grin, like Liam is capable of anything else.

_-but me_

The radio goes to commercial and Niall sticks his head out of the door.

"You hungry, Nialler? Want me to get you food? You want Nando’s? I'll just pop out and get that for you, no problem." Liam yells all in one breath and escapes the stifling room, rubbing his damp hands on his shirt as he goes. Zayn happened so much.

**

Liam did come over like Zayn agreed, showed up one night with half-melted cornettos and a handful of DVDs. They sat against Zayn's bedpost with their legs crossed the same way. Had a pillow lodged between them with Liam's laptop perched on it, their elbows touching. Zayn wearing one of Liam's earphones- the left one even though he was sat on the left, because it worked better, apparently.

They watched Say Anything, now was watching the new Batman which Zayn hadn’t seen, had 10 Things I Hate About You queued up. Liam was lucky he was pretty, or Zayn would not stand for it.

"You alright, Zayn?" Liam pats a hand against Zayn's leg. "You keep flinching."

He was hardly flinching, but more glancing quickly away. "Yeah it's just- I feel a bit dizzy."

Liam turns to the screen. "Are you afraid of heights?" he asks, pausing the movie and sitting up to face him.

"Nah," Zayn says, casual. Liam somehow knows, and tilts his brows in sympathy. Zayn was rarely this obvious. "I'm fine, let's keep watching."

Liam shakes his head a little. "How are you into superheroes if you can't watch _flying?_ "

“He was falling to his death, right then, alright? And," Zayn shuts his eyes- he can sense Liam smiling indulgently at him. "- I like reading the comic books better."

Liam is snickering now, rubbing his thumb against Zayn's knee in a vaguely calming way. Zayn finds himself relaxing. "I'll just lend you the soundtrack. We'll skip this one."

Zayn grumbles, grateful. "It doesn't make sense, anyway- does it. No reason for him to have let him live earlier, only to be beaten by him now. Movie Batman is an idiot."

"No need to be embarrassed, Zayn," Liam says, closing his laptop and moving it to the bedside table, arm brushing against Zayn's chest.

"I'm not- I haven't got boxers that say 'Man of Steel' on them, I don't think my fear of flying measures up."

"You see that's all subjective. I have a certain pride for that underwear." Liam grins, too close. He points towards Zayn's desk, "Why don't you show me that track you were gonna show me. And by you were gonna, I mean I'm forcing you to. I've heard all these amazing things about them from Bella's own Tommo, and I've yet to hear it."

"Yeah?" Zayn says, pleased. "Yeah," Liam replies.

He looks over at his desk, and then back at Liam, who's grinning at him expectantly. He feels a bout of dizziness again, his fingertips stinging from being asleep for so long, wedged under Liam's leg. 

"Actually we don't have to, erm, do that right now."

"I want to," Liam says.

Zayn swallows, eyeing the door, "-we could just, like, keep watching-"

"Come on. Just a little. One bar,” he bargains.

"Alright." Zayn says, his Liam-laugh now automatic. He gets up to grab his laptop and hard drive from his desk, and shuffles back. Liam makes further space, backed up against the wall, bouncing a little in excitement. Zayn plays him a recent one, beat sampled from a track by The Weeknd, not-so-subtly watching Liam's face the whole time.

"This is sick, Zayn," Liam turns to him after a while, wide-eyed and amazed.

"This here is the bass line, and this is the matching of downbeats." Zayn explains, feeling himself relaxing fully as he delves into this thing he loves, with Liam like a heating-blanket and smelling of mint chocolate beside him. "I just find similar chord progressions and mash them together."

"Absolutely amazing." Liam opens his palm and Zayn slaps it, probably grinning like a crazy person. "You're magic, you are."

"And then right over this is where the chorus would be," Zayn continues, pointing at the drop, then starts humming a line as the beat starts up again.

He feels Liam's eyes on him as he shows off some of the tools he uses to match pitch- Zayn's ears go hot, feeling oddly self-conscious.

"Am I boring you?"

"No, yeah, no you just looked-" Liam chuckles abashedly, turning back to the screen. "You look really happy."

And it's Zayn's turn to stare at Liam, here sat against his dull colourless room, painted bright in his red polo - It's possible that they do this too often. Days hazing by with Liam as his constant, his familiar profile, his favourite beat-up shoes, the shape of his mouth and hands when he's idle  – but Zayn tries not to think about that.

Liam looks almost absurdly good on Zayn's rickety college bed, arm curled over his head, flushed red to his collar as he halfheartedly ignores Zayn’s stare- but he doesn't think about that either.

Instead Zayn reaches over and rubs his thumb on Liam's stubble, curling his finger under his chin until Liam turns to look at him – and he ducks forward to lick into his mouth and touch the birthmark on his throat with his thumb, let it turn down the volume in his head to a distant hum.

Liam makes a deep noise like he's caught out, gasping as Zayn releases his lip from his teeth- but starts kissing back immediately and enthusiastically, arm coming down to place a hand on Zayn's waist, pull him around to him.

Liam is keen, breathless as he removes Zayn’s glasses and his laptop in the way – he lays a careful hand on Zayn’s jaw, then his throat, fumbling at Zayn’s collar like a child suddenly allowed, brows furrowed in concentration. It’s a bit sloppy, they’re at a weird angle- and Zayn grunts, pushes down on Liam's hip until he's leaned back, slots his leg between his, does it proper.

Liam’s heady breaths roaring in Zayn’s ears, his hands restless along his sides, tilting his head down to swallow Zayn's lips once, and again. Zayn swipes his tongue against his teeth, pushes a hand under Liam’s shirt, hard muscles of his stomach twitching under his fingers --

"I like you." Liam rasps carelessly against Zayn's mouth, pulling him closer."I like you so much, Zayn."

And something balks in Zayn, shutting down, as Liam mouths along his jaw, shockingly gentle, pulling Zayn's hand further up, tracing the rabbit-quick thrumming under Liam's skin- and that

That is not what Zayn meant at all.

He doesn’t know what he meant when he kissed Liam, other than to kiss him. To see how it feels, if he will open up or go tense under Zayn's hands, if he'll make sounds- to taste the inside of his mouth, his pink tongue. Because Zayn is only human, and can take only so many hours of Liam's physicality in his bed with him before he breaks. All of that a little, maybe, but not this, this leaden, breakable thing he has no clue how to handle properly.

"Zayn?" Liam asks, opening his eyes. And this is it, Zayn thinks. This is where he won't make the mistake of wrecking another good thing. This would have been his first adult heartbreak and he can stop it in its track right now, and he would still have Liam. He'll get away with that.

“Bad idea,” he mutters, shutting his eyes hard. Liam looks debauched, lost the plot and most definitely turned-on, it’s glaring, and Zayn will not look. 

Liam still has his thumb in Zayn’s belt hoop, trying to calm his breathing. “Have I done something,” Liam says, sorry, and Zayn wavers, eyes darting down again- Liam's bottom lip sucked red.

The door swings open and Zayn gets a heart attack, swiftly puts a foot of distance between them. The big light clicks on – and it’s his roommate and his dumb friends. By the way they sneer at the two of them on the bed, they seem to be just as bad in level of dickheadedness.

“You should go,” Zayn says, as the group begins to play a video game three feet away from where they were lying. Liam breathes out, a little shaky, and gets up to gather his things.

He lingers at the foot of the bed, glancing at the rest of the party who are providing little privacy, watching them openly. “I’ll see you at work,” he tells Zayn thickly, and Zayn just nods, not meeting his eyes, fiddles with his laptop until Liam finally goes. The moment the door shuts softly behind him, Zayn curls over, swearing into his hands. He groans, pulling at his hair, horrified at the utter fuck-up he just made in one of the few things in his life here that he gave a shit about.

“Was that your boyfriend,” dickhead number two says with cheese puffs in his mouth.

Zayn shakes his head, in living agony. “Don’t ask. Don’t speak to me.”

**

Zayn arrives late to the Regional Competition, being particularly narcoleptic when stressed out – and Niall spots him first, as he runs down the hall to the door to backstage.

“You seriously need to get that checked out,” Niall says, handing him a mic. Zayn grins at him with half his mouth, hurriedly buttoning up the rest of his shirt.

“Hi,” Liam mumbles behind him.

Zayn nearly jumps out of his skin, and turns around. Liam’s walked over from his group, looking spooked and cautious, like either he or Zayn will bolt at any second. It’s a near thing.

"You um, disappeared."

“Erm, what?” Zayn panics, “Have you seen Louis?”

Louis runs out at the sound of his voice, followed by the rest of the Bellas, "Zayn! Where have you been, we’ve called you a million times.”

"Why weren't you at practice?" Perrie says, poking his chest hard enough to hurt.

“Don’t crowd me, Edwards, I’m here aren’t I,” Zayn grumbles vaguely, giving Louis a shit-eating grin in apology. Louis rolls his eyes, pacified. Perrie smacks him on the head, anyway.

“Five minutes, ladies and gents,” Josh tells them, ducking his head out. They all shuffle in.

Liam finds him in the backstage again, right before they go on, asks him if he’s alright. “I’m fine.” Zayn snaps at him, which is unfair. Zayn kissed him first.

This is why he never did this. Have people over and watch movies and talk about nothing. It muddled Zayn’s brain, him being unable to differentiate the friend thing with the sex thing. Who meant what to whom. Whatever. Liam deserved better. Zayn wanted Liam around too much to let it taper out from a fling, no matter how good.

He coughs and pinches Liam lightly on the arm, wordlessly asking the same. Liam seems to be deliberating whether he was, and finally with a sigh, smiles a little at him in answer. Zayn feels a knot in his stomach loosen, having hated not talking to his friend- despite the new and rather crippling awkwardness between them.

The announcer calls out the Barden Bellas, and Louis taps him on the shoulder impatiently – and Zayn walks backwards on to the stage, sticking his tongue out at Liam as he goes.

They smash it, and Zayn nails his riff. They place second, going on to semi-finals, just after the Treble Makers, whose show involved Harry getting pantsed, so. Hard to beat.

Louis and Zayn high-five, hopping off the stage, crowing in delight. Louis revels a bit more acutely in the victory, since he also had the pain of losing to the Carolina University the year before, and has beaten them this year.

The Bellas pile out of the theatre with the trophy high above their heads, smug and happy, engaging in banter with the lowly runner-ups. Louis flaunts a little, calling them bad-boys and enumerating all the ways their feelings must obviously be hurt, giving everything back from what they got, as they head out the front lobby – and the kids from Carolina are not amused.

One of their sopranos, the weaselly one, raises his voice, sneering, "You only placed because of your new tan boy there, with the pipes."

Zayn just rolls his eyes at the microagression, but feels Louis go rigid beside him.

"A nice play. Scare some points out of the judges looking like that"

Louis turns round in the next heartbeat, eyes alight and face gone blank with fury. "Apologize."

"Leave it, Louis," Zayn says, eyeing the gathering crowd.

"No, mate, he needs to atone for his tongue. Apologize, to _him_."

"Or what, Tomlinson," the kid says a little nervously, glancing at his teammates over his shoulder. "You going to hit me?"

Zayn wants to laugh. "Louis, are you joking."

"Just one, right in the mouth." Louis grits, hands in fists - _Louis_ , who would not knowingly hurt a fly. The Treble Makers were trailing out from backstage, rowdy with victory, and Zayn looks over, searching for Harry or Liam, Niall who's probably packing up still.

"Go on, then," the kid says, nudging someone behind him. "Gonna let your boy do it for you?"

But before Louis could reply with a sharp grin something no doubt maiming – one of the beefcake tenors elbows out from behind the kid and shoves Louis hard on to the floor – and Zayn sees fucking red.

In the next second, the tenor is flying back with his nose spraying blood, and Zayn watches in shock as he clutches his face, having not moved. He turns and sees that it was Liam, come out of nowhere, looking just as surprised as Zayn at what he's done. Harry is helping Louis off the ground and Niall has a mic stand held the wrong way in his hand, looking manic. And the hall erupts into chaos.

It was pretty serious as far as brawls went, though for such a ridiculous cause as protecting Zayn's honour or whatever. Zayn never really had anyone stand up for him before, and it was the kind of thing you came to expect from a friendship like with Louis, which is in no small way a life-changing experience – It was an unexpected feeling, to suddenly have four people willingly get into trouble with him.

Some girl was biting his leg at one point, and he had nail marks on his wrists that might bruise. Harry had a torn lip and Niall had two Carolina kids in headlock, cussing them out. He sees one of them lifting the Bellas’ trophy above their head, and tries to yank it away from doing anyone harm- and it slips out of the kid's hand, explodes into the glass doors behind them.

Everyone freezes in place, the crash having alerted security to the scene. One of the guards points directly at Zayn as he approaches, and Zayn realizes that he still has a piece of the trophy in hand, caught in the act. Fuck his life.

"Shit, scatter!" someone yells, and the room empties out.

Liam grabs Zayn's hand, taking the trophy piece out of his other one, and pulls him down the hall, pushing past the people straggling to get away. They dash through a corridor without aim, Zayn laughing a little, fear high in their throats, and arrive at a door at the end of it which they wrench open – to find that Liam has led them directly to a group of guards that were headed to the scene.

All of them stop like deer in headlights. Zayn barely hears over the buzzing in his ears, Liam muttering under his fast breath, eyes scrunched shut, "Stupid, stupid boy."

**

"For fuck's sake" Zayn scoffs, shrugging into his jacket as he leaves the police station. He sees Liam get up from the curb he'd been sitting on, still in his torn blazer with the tie missing, blood from his knuckles smudged on his cheek, looking like a fallen prom king.

"The level of grovelling I'm subjected to for indirectly breaking a window is insane."

"I love how you handled that." Liam tells him, winded. “It was very- like the jail scene in Bringing Up Baby."

He looks to have worried a bit, eyes roaming in concern, his short hair mussed and lip bitten. Zayn wants to push him around, make fun of him for his earnestness and that bloody temper. He wants to take him back to his room and wrap up his torn hand for him, watch him fanboy over one of his movies.

"I can be convincing when I want to be," he says instead, definitely flirting. Why was he flirting.

"I don't doubt it." Liam laughs, walking into Zayn's side. Zayn pushes back, smiling for no reason.

"Thanks, babe, for bailing me out." Zayn stops walking and drags Liam back by his sleeve, meeting his eyes with some difficulty. He feels endeared and grateful and willing to show it, as Liam increasingly brings out the embarrassing in Zayn.

Liam looks a bit guilty at that, and his eyes land somewhere beyond him. "I didn't, actually."

Zayn turns around to look at what, and sees his parents standing in the car park- the very picture of disappointment and brimming hellfire.

“What, are they doing here." Zayn demands. They must've driven hours. He was literally a dead man standing.

"I had to call your parents mate, they had you in a cell."

"How could you- Fuck," Zayn struggles, overwhelmed by the, just- stupid betrayal. "I can't believe you went behind my back and –– now I'll never get out of this shitehole."

"What– d’you mean Barden?" Liam sounds lost. “Zayn-”

Zayn knocks his hand away. "You had no fucking right, I can handle myself. I had it under control."

"Why are you yelling at me, I only did what I thought-"

"Well you thought wrong, didn't you?" Zayn spits, uncaring "You don't know anything about me so stop thinking, yeah. Stay out of it"

Something falls silent in Liam, looking devastated – Zayn bites his tongue. Liam's voice is thready and bruised when he speaks, "Listen, Zayn, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for-"

"Whatever," Zayn mutters, turning on his heel and leaving Liam standing there. Zayn walks past his mum and his father's stern look and slams into the backseat, livid.

He kicks Louis, Perrie and Jade out of his room when he returns from his parents' hour-long lecture, ignores Niall's concerned texts, avoids Harry with all his diligence. He doesn't look at Liam, doesn't speak or respond to his messages for a week. – Zayn gets gone, leaving no note.

**

The semi-finals go terribly. They barely place for nationals, and only because the third group was disqualified for dabbling in hormone pills. There were a lot of tears.

Zayn messed up half the choreography and forgot the changes to the hook HE'D made, leaving the air nearly empty for two whole bars – and the applause afterwards was pitying at best.

"Where did you go Zayn," Louis snaps the moment they're off stage.

Niall takes their mics and watches them worriedly like a child of divorced parents. Zayn doesn't say anything, just tired of it.

But Louis doesn't let up. "You can't just disappear like that. You missed three practices, mate. I know you think this is all, whatever, a joke. But it's important to some of us, and we're all suffering for you being a miserable twat and not being fucking present."

"A joke?" Zayn repeats, numb with the injustice of it, his mind gone blank. A pitfall opening in his chest, at Perrie's disappointed look and Harry pulling Louis back, saying 'come on' and glancing at Zayn to say something. "You think I've been here this whole time, as a joke"

"Haven't you?" Louis bites, wrestling past Harry's arms. "You can't be bothered to commit to this thing, to waste your time with it. Just say it, yeah," and Zayn cannot believe Louis would think – he bares his teeth, eyes stinging.

"Louis," and it's Liam, breathless from the run, appearing out of nowhere beside Zayn, his face crumpled in distress and something like guilt. which, what the fuck.

"Louis, it's my fault-" Liam starts, and NOPE.

"Bloody _hell_ , do you ever leave off?" Zayn wheels around, pushing him back a few steps – It was insufferable enough the amount of space Liam took up in his head, alone, clouding everything else like a bastard.

"This has nothing to do with you. I never asked for a knight in shining fucking armour, hovering around and getting in on other people's business." Zayn shoves him again, and Liam barely moves, frozen like a statue. "I don't need that shit, alright? I was doing just fine before you came around, do you get that."

Liam swallows, looking as if in pain. "I know-"

"Well then get it through your thick head, would you," Zayn cuts him off and pushes past him, striding past Louis' scorned face, slamming through the back door. He hears the door open again and Niall call out his name, but he doesn't stop. He was done, tired of the bullshit he got for giving a damn, knowing it was his own fault for all of this happening in the first place, and the fact only making him angrier.

Zayn refuses to see anyone, skips most of his classes and work, opts to pass out through the day, work on his music and listen to Craig David through the night - which is what he'd planned on doing when he first arrived at Barden, though now not as appealing.

Zayn heads over to Liam's room the third day he hasn't talked to him, his tolerance for it growing shorter and shorter. Liam emerges after much name-calling and kicking the door on Zayn's side – and he looks tired, standing slanted like he's taken a fatal hit, eyes dark and guarded and not meeting Zayn's.

"What are you doing here."

And that hurts, Zayn wincing. "Don't do that. I'm- I'm here to say sorry. I was being a twat, and dumping it on you when you were only trying to help. You- you know how I get with Louis: you can't win, and he pushes all your buttons-"

"You think I'm angry with you because you yelled at me?" Liam says slowly, his knuckles white around the doorknob. “Just when I think you're coming around, you push me away again. I'm always terrified that it might be the last time. That you'll never want to- I can't just wait-“

"Is it because of the other night, when I kicked you out," Zayn asks, getting pissed. "Just because I won't-"

"It's not about that, are you-" Liam butts his head on the doorframe, breathing out through his nose. "If you think that little of me, if you care so little, I can't see the point. You're halfway to walking out on me, every time, and I can't handle the suspense."

Liam looks at him, defeated, waiting on Zayn to dispute him. When Zayn can't, just staring back, Liam huffs out a breath, slams the door on Zayn's face. He doesn't come to work, avoids Zayn like he's planned it out - and then spring break starts and Zayn hardly sees anyone.

Niall texts him, asking DJ Malik to fill in for him at the station while he's back home, and Zayn can't bring himself to be very excited to be working there alone. He scrolls through the multi-text from Harry, a long, well-punctuated essay telling him that Louis is being a stubborn arse and not apologizing, so he's sorry, and they should meet up after, get food, make up, and that he loves him and to have a good break. Liam hasn’t called once.

Everything he plays on the air seems to accentuate the frustration he feels. What came first, the pop song or the misery? He puts on the mix he played for Liam, and remembers how he had looked that day in Zayn’s bed, rapt and eager and giving it all up if only Zayn wanted, if Zayn knew how to ask for that kind of thing.

He’d hoped that it would go away, in all honesty. This constant feeling in his gut debating fight or flight whenever he looked at Liam or whenever he was with the boys. If he just gave it time, stayed far enough away, it would end up being nothing serious, nothing he couldn’t inevitably do without when they did leave him for this childish bullshit.

And Zayn misses Liam. He misses Louis and Niall, and wee Styles so much it feels like grief, and Zayn is unused to even the idea of that, let alone the actual feeling. Despite his efforts, these people wound themselves into Zayn's life over the past semester and a half so deeply it has left what feels like a crater in Zayn's tiny, cold heart.

Zayn rummages through his sack, looking desperately for something uplifting to play, and finds one of the soundtracks Liam had let him borrow of Dirty Dancing.

He stares at Patrick Swayze's face for a while, then gives up and calls Niall, who everyone goes to for life advice– or at least anyone with some sense.

"You're a people-person, how do you do it."

"What, have relationships?" Niall says, eating something, sound of drinks and chatter in the background, "Why're you asking me for, do what you've been doing the whole year. Open up. Be around. Quit disappearing,” he admonishes. “Feck your pride, and your nerves, and show some feckin' love"

Zayn half-laughs, half-sighs, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the booth. "It's so much bloody trouble. Liking someone."

Niall hums in sympathy. "It is. Is it worth it though? Aren't I worth it?"

"Yeah, babe," Zayn tsks, like it's a shame. "You are."

Zayn comes back to his dorm that night and settles into bed. He pirates the movie, because fuck if he's netflixing this shit.

"This is the dumbest thing." Zayn says to his empty room, about a third of the way through. "Why is this happening?"

He watches until the end anyway, weeping only a little.

**

Spring break ends, and Zayn wakes up on the first day of school while the sun is actually up, picks up enough Starbucks to drown a person, and dials Harry.

“Hi babe, you alright?” Zayn says, parking himself in the booth, booting up his mixing program. “Is Louis around?”

There is a pause where Harry is obviously necking somebody. “You could say that.”

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut. “God, I don’t- Want- Just pass it to him.”

“This better be really, really good-“ Louis starts, voice rough.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn tells him. “I’m a dick, a terrible Aca-mate. I’m the worst at feelings and being present, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have them or don’t want to be there. You’re important, the Bellas are important, I love you, man, and I understand that I’m cockblocking now as well, but I need us to have an emergency meeting.”

Louis is silent on the other side for a minute, like he's being glared at by a certain curly-haired top - then he sighs, “The shit I let you get away with, Malik."

"I know, I know," Zayn sighs, sheepish "Can you like, call everyone? I don't have their numbers."

"Do you even have a phone," Louis yells and hangs up on him.

**

The first time Liam sees Zayn since before break is at Finals.

"Good luck," Zayn tells him before the Trebles go on, his expression hard to make out in the shadows of the backstage.

The Trebles pull it off, with Harry and Jesy as leads: A medley of _Too Close_ by Alex Clare and _Bust your Windows_. A hundred things are pelted at Harry during the finale bow, and Liam has to carry him off stage away from further harm.

They sit down in their designated seats, as the Bellas come on stage. Zayn's stood in the middle, looking as superlative as ever, by Louis who winks over at them. The Bellas start singing, brilliant and fresh and amazing- and Liam pushes a knuckle against his eye, kind of unable to watch. 

Harry nudges from beside him, telling him to pay attention. And then he hears it, the familiar jaunty chords from the late 80s, and he whips his head up, sees Zayn on stage looking right at him as he explains how with one look at you he can't disguise.

 _"I want to show you what love's… all about… Darling tonight,"_ Zayn is singing out, and also dancing, and Liam's face is splitting in half. He barks out a laugh, disbelieving.

Zayn is pointing at him in the seats, saying the actual words, "nobody puts baby in the corner," and Liam wants to die he's so embarrassed for him.

The performance ends, somehow, the theatre erupting in applause, and Zayn jumps off the stage and heads to where Liam is sitting, mortified and probably beet red, grabbing Liam's wrist and heading to the door.

" _Hungry Eyes_? Did you just pull a Heath Ledger with my mum's favourite song?" Liam asks as he pulls him out into the hall. Zayn covers his whole face, rumbles, "Shut up for a second, I'm trying to apologize."

Liam nods his head, crossing his arms. "Go on, then."

"I'm a shit friend," Zayn sighs, his heart threatening to burst with nerves. He shakes his head, "I'm not good with intimacy. I know happy endings don't actually exist, so I've stopped- setting myself up for the punchline.

"So I- I leave, and hide, pretend it doesn't matter, when really it matters a lot. I'm afraid it'll end before I'm ready. It can't hurt if it never starts, so I don't start. A bit late for that though."

Zayn shrugs, like that's it- I'm that stunted. But Liam is staring at him like the stuff Zayn's saying is blowing his mind, a bend in worldly physics.

"Can I ask you something," Liam says after a beat. Zayn nods. "D'you like me?"

Zayn breathes out, frowning. "Too much."

"Me as well. You're my best mate. I've never had one of those before." Liam considers him, eyes bright and infallible. "It won't end. You want to know why?"

Zayn laughs a bit shakily. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Because I run faster than you. And I'm amazing at hide and seek.” Liam says, stepping close, eyes darting around Zayn’s face. “I'd never hurt you, Zayn, you must know that."

Zayn can’t wait for another year of this stupid school, of singing on stage and mucking about with his best mates, another year of working at the radio station and sorting albums, of karaoke, drunk footie, of movies in bed with half an earphone.

Of Liam and his crinkly eyes and soft shirts, his unending patience with Zayn's ineptness with feelings. Another year of liking this weirdo and another year after if that became necessary.

“You watched that film.” Liam notes.

“I didn't, like, learn anything from it. Other than that I can’t believe you thought I was ‘Baby’ in that relationship. You can’t sexy dance for shit”

“Yeah, but I can do this,” and Liam lifts Zayn up by the hips, making him yelp, and pushes him up against the wall, noses him just below his jaw.

And Zayn angles his head so that he has more leverage, and kisses him back, his hand curled beneath Liam's collar, Liam's shirt fisted in the other and pulling up.

Liam groans into his mouth, clutching the back of Zayn's head between the wall and fingers winding in his hair – and Zayn lets him, he can fix it later, Liam’s palms wide and fever-hot on Zayn’s ribs and stomach - 

"We've won, if you care."

And Zayn pushes him off, putting a semi-respectable space between them, turning to see Louis, Harry and Niall who are leaned against the doorway, grinning at them slightly in disgust.

"We won?" Zayn exclaims.

"Oh, wow, congratulations," Liam says, going for a fist bump and then covering Zayn's hand instead, pulling him in the direction of the exit.

 

 

++++

They tumble backwards into Zayn's room with their hands in each other's shirts, and are met with Zayn's roommate and company, who are frozen in horror by the intrusion.

"Hello again," Liam tells them, cut-off by Zayn kissing him and pulling him in through the door."Sorry, mates, excuse us," Liam says as the group all but runs out of the room, Zayn kicking the door shut behind them.

"Get this off," Zayn says, harsh, pulling on his belt. Liam takes his hands off and gets Zayn's jeans undone instead, walking Zayn back against the wall and pushing down on one knee, to drag his mouth on him through the damp fabric. Zayn swears at the ceiling, throaty, kind of punching the dresser.

Zayn is eager, which Liam didn't expect, all lidded eyes, mouth canted and breaths coming careless and quick as he shoves Liam's shirt over his head, drags his fingers down Liam's chest and his arms- "Your arms, man," Zayn says, like he wants something done about it.

The first time is pretty ridiculous, against the wall like that. Both Liam's hands on either side of Zayn's head, arms strained and going numb. Forgoing kissing properly for breathing into each other's mouths, Liam's knee hitting the wall in an erratic rhythm, not that he could feel it.

Zayn clutches the back of Liam's neck and comes with a rough groan, his teeth denting Liam's collarbone - and Liam kisses his cheek quick and then drags his leg further up on his waist to rut against him with lesser restraint. His breaths coming harsh and open-mouthed as Zayn looks at him heated and content and his tongue between his teeth- and Liam shuts his eyes hard against the white heat, jerking Zayn against him, muffling a hoarse cry into his shoulder.

They fall hard to the floor, and Liam spends a long time there snogging Zayn, his head between his hands, listening to Zayn complain about it, about stubble burn on his fucking- everywhere.

They go round two, and another on Zayn's small bed. They make a mess, knock a lot of things down, and Zayn tells him he'll hear hell for it, forces him to help clean up after, straddled on his chest and pinning Liam's hands down.

They lie side by side afterwards and Zayn goes quiet for a while, as Liam idly traces the black heart on his hip bone with his thumb, wills himself to calm down, his hands to stop shaking, his heartbeat going mad like he's afraid at any moment Zayn will change his mind.

"You here, Liam?" Zayn asks him, tapping his shoulder.

"Yes." Liam says, letting out a breath.


End file.
